


The Destructive Power of Magic

by Aivy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Gryffindor Common Room, Magical Theory, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 17:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20012056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aivy/pseuds/Aivy
Summary: A Gryffindor prefect is confronted with a distraught first year and explains to her the destructive power of the raw magic soaked into Hogwarts very walls.





	The Destructive Power of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in German for and posted at the HP Calendar at fanfiktion.de.
> 
> Not beta read.

"My books!"

The lamenting words and the accompanying sobs made me look up from my studies. So early in the year - we had just completed the first five weeks of the school year - and with surprisingly good weather for this time of the year, you had the Gryffindor common room to yourself most of the weekends.

At the other end of the room was a small first-year who I had seen more than once crouching over her homework while the other children of her year were enjoying the sun or exploring the castle. She was pulling her already bushy hair over the remains of several books and I could see the problem from a distance. With a sigh, I put my documents neatly together and got up. Even if I hadn't been a Prefect, I couldn't just leave the poor thing to her despair.

"Only the Ravenclaws usually have this concrete problem," I muttered as I crossed the common room. I sat down on the couch next to the disturbed girl and looked down on what had once been a stack of books and now consisted only of loose, crumbling pages and slowly disintegrating foil. The books had apparently still been shrink-wrapped. That explained the rapid decay.

"Hey," I said gently and handed the still sobbing child a handkerchief. "Miss Granger, right?" The way she flinched, she had only noticed me when I addressed her, but she quickly recovered and took the offered piece of cloth to wipe the tears from her cheeks and eyes. I saw her look first to my face, then to the Prefect badge pinned to my robes and back again, her posture involuntarily straightening. Brave little lion cub.

"Did that happen to you with other things?" I asked gently and received a nod.

"Yes. Several things. Most of the pens and notebooks I brought with me to take notes are already broken. And my spare toothbrushes..." For some reason, that made her blush.

I nodded in confirmation.

"So industrially made things that weren't used or barely used, correct?"

"Yes, exactly. But why-? I thought..."

"That your classmates are playing dirty tricks on you? No. That can never be ruled out, but something else is at work here. Something that pretty much all Muggle-borns experience in their first year. The half-bloods should know better."

The longer I spoke, the more the grief disappeared from the girl's gaze in front of me and instead curiosity and thirst for knowledge flared up in her eyes. She literally hung on my lips. I could understand more and more why the little one had already gotten a reputation as a teacher's pet.

"It's magic," I finally explained to her. "The castle, Hogwarts, is soaked with the natural magic of this place, as well as hundreds of generations of wizards and witches who have lived and worked here every day. Soulless objects have no chance here."

"Soulless?" Miss Granger immediately enquired. "But only living beings have souls - if at all. By definition, aren't objects always soulless?"

I gritted my teeth and waited until she had finished her question and looked at me again, impatiently, for an explanation. Not willing to open this sideshow, I didn't mention the fact that wizards could be very sure that a soul existed - which she would surely discover sometime in her school career - and set about straightening out the rest.

"Okay, maybe 'soulless' isn't the most clever choice of words, but for me it best describes the condition. You have to know, everyone has magic, even if the purebloods like to deny it very loudly. Most people just don't have enough to cast spells. When someone, whether a witch or a Muggle, uses an item, processes it or carries it with them, some of this magic passes to the item. All the more so when we associate feelings or memories with it."

I could read the hundreds of questions the little first-year had from her face like from an open book. The fate of the still wrapped, ruined books was forgotten for the moment in the face of new knowledge. With a slightly raised hand, I asked her to let me speak.

"Mechanical Muggle manufacturing has reached a stage where products sometimes feel a human hand for the first time when they are removed from the packaging by the buyer. The production is absolutely impersonal, without any love or devotion. That's why I call them soulless. In their new state, they have no magical aura of their own and here at Hogwarts they are helplessly exposed to the unfocused onslaught of free magic and crumble within weeks."

I could see that my explanation had triggered some kind of horrified fascination in Miss Granger.

"That's why the magical world seems so backward," she noted, apparently unable to listen without making her own conclusions known. "No chemically processed paper, no plastic, little glass, but lots of wood and hand-forged metal, I suppose..."

"Yep," I confirmed immediately. "Wood, parchment, in general all unprocessed plant and animal materials contain low levels of magic by nature. The craftsmanship only reinforces this. Hand-blown glass or hand-made paper - as soon as a person is directly involved in the processing, the materials are basically suitable for magical use."

"How come that not all the things I brought with me and didn't buy in Diagon Alley have disintegrated yet? Most of them are industrially produced." Miss Granger shivered. Did she just imagine how her clothes fell apart under her school robe? Possibly. I wouldn't ask.

"As I mentioned at the beginning, it's not just the production that plays a role. The use of an object also provides it with magic. If you have a favorite piece, possibly guarded and loved for years, all these memories, emotions, and long periods of contact will protect it until the end of your Hogwarts days.

"And not all processes are fully automated. However, the jeans sewn together emotionlessly in Asia by low-wage workers will never last as long as the sweaters grandma lovingly crocheted over weeks."

"Thank God," mumbled the little one. Her gaze went back to the pile of dissolving cellulose and plastic. "Is there anything to save here?" she asked pressed.

"No," I replied with regret. "At this stage, any spell would only accelerate decay." My gaze again went to the clock. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I have to go back to my N.E.W.T. studies. If you still have questions" - ha, I know, stupid phrase, when the child practically vibrates with questions - "tonight I can give you a few book titles for independent research in the library".

Oh dear, the girl beamed as if I had promised her a pony. Well, how most girls would beam if you promised them a pony. I wasn't so sure about this one.

"No, that's okay," she assured me. "The N.E.W.T.s are enormously important. Thank you for taking the time to explain all this to me."

"Not at all," I said and made my way back to my desk to take some more advantage of the tranquility of the common room before the noisy hordes would come back after dinner.

I hadn't got far yet when she asked, aimed more at the general room behind me:

"Why isn't this explained to us Muggle-borns from the beginning? Why do we have to find out for ourselves the hard way?

"They don't want to scare you off with the 'destructive power of magic' before you could experience 'the wonders and joys'. At least that's the only answer I've ever gotten," I replied dryly without stopping or turning around.

As I spread my papers out in front of me and dipped the quill into the inkwell, I suspected that Miss Granger would sleep in her bed tonight with her remaining books. She seemed to be the type. Lion cub or not, the little one had eagle wings under her robe.

Not that it bothered me. The lion pride could use a few clever and cool heads. The others would also recognize that in time as well, I was sure of that.


End file.
